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There’s an apple on the table, and papers, and as I’m trying to work I notice that the box of Kleenex is beautiful. The proportions, height to width. The crispness of the edges, the swirl of colors, the strength of the thin, airy tissue reaching up. I notice how the light gathers and fades, soft on the paper, slick on the box, falling, gently, on the apple, the papers, the wood of the tabletop where my work still sits.

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